


How You See Me

by grantaire_the_cynic



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Enj has some thinking to do, artist R
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-09 06:04:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1971705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grantaire_the_cynic/pseuds/grantaire_the_cynic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>bunbunjolras: Enjolras finds Grantaire’s sketchbooks and has a flick through and there are a few images of him, beautifully rendered of course, and most of them are of him in profile or close to it, and the rest are of him either head on or just starting to turn away and in all of them he looks angry or disappointed and it takes a while for him to realise that that’s the only way Grantaire has ever seen him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Grantaire was slumped over the table, asleep or passed out, sometimes it was hard to tell. The other Amis had trickled out and it was just the two of them. Enjolras briefly debated just leaving him there until he woke up, but knowing Grantaire, that could be morning. He sighed and collected his own books before going to round up Grantaire’s stuff. He started by cleaning up the empty beer bottles and napkins.  
"Grantaire?" he said, hoping to rouse him. Grantaire slept on. Enjolras sighed and started collecting Grantaire’s books. One fell out of his arms and onto the floor. Enjolras sighed and shoved the others into Grantaires bag. When he reached down to pick up the last book, he saw it laying face up, Enjolras’ own face staring at him. He picked up the book. 

Inside there were about a dozen sketches. A couple were of the whole group, but most were of Enjolras. The first couple were breath taking. The first was a profile: Enjolras addressing the group last spring his brain supplied. Each detail was carefully rendered and the whole sketch was beautiful. The second was just as detailed and just as beautiful. It was Enjolras addressing their group, again. This time it was more head on, but not quite. 

Enjolras flipped through the book, taking in each drawing. The third one was Enjolras, straight on. He was scowling, his brows knit in frustration. the third one he was frowning, disappointment etched in every line on his face. The fourth and fifth were both angry. Enjolras was glaring and appeared to be yelling in both. The sixth and seventh were both the group as a whole, minus Grantaire. Enjolras noticed that he looked irritated in both drawings. In the seventh, he was glaring over to a corner not sketched.

The last image was a close up study of Enjolras’ face. It was incredibly detailed. Enjolras’ face was twisted in utter disappointment. A glare that seemed to leave the page. Enjolras frowned. Why did he look angry or upset in every picture? Why were there none of him laughing or smiling? Or even just talking in the relaxed manner he did with Combeferre all the time?

“Because you always look angry and disappointed at Grantaire. He’s never seen anything different.”

Enjolras felt sick. He gingerly slipped the book into Grantaire’s bag and sat down. He rested his head in his hands and sighed. How could he be so cruel so often? Yes, Grantaire infuriated him. He annoyed him. But that did not excuse his actions. Enjolras sighed and sat up. 

"Grantaire?" he nudged the other man. Grantaire mumbled in his sleep, but did not stir. Enjolras picked up both bags and slung them over one arm, then hoisted Grantaire up. "Come on, I’ll take you home."

Grantaire did not provide much assistance in walking. Enjolras had to practically carry him. A block from the Musain, he decided that Grantaire’s home was too far and took him to his own home. 

Inside, he eased Grantaire onto the couch, slipped his boots off, then draped a blanket over him.

"I’m sorry, R. I didn’t realize how awful I was being. I understand if you hate me forever, but I do promise that I will not continue being so terrible. And please, know that I’m not disappointed in you. Yes, we disagree, and yes, we debate. But I still respect you and you are not a disappointment." 

Enjolras tucked the blanket around Grantaire and left a glass of water on the end table before he turned in for the night. Despite his best efforts, sleep did not find Enjolras.


	2. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's a year overdue, but here's the aftermath of Enjolras finding the drawings.

Grantaire woke up with the familiar headache that drinking too much brought. He rubbed his head, trying to recall the previous evening. There had been shouting, arguing. And he could have sworn that Enjolras had walked him home. But why would he do that? Enjolras hated him. 

Grantaire slowly sat up and saw the glass of water and bottle of pain killer. He knew he didn't put those out. One of their friends must have walked him home. It couldn't have been Jehan, he always made sure Grantaire made it to bed and he also left out breakfast. The man really did too much when it came to drunk sitting Grantaire. Jehan always got a fantastic Christmas and birthday present. Grantaire shrugged and swallowed a couple pills before dragging himself to the shower. 

Enjolras had not intended on spending the night. He had planned to drop Grantaire off at home and leave. But he was also tired. Work had been incredibly stressful that week and his quick bathroom break had turned into a bathroom break and 'how did I end up on the couch in the spare room?' Regardless, it was the first good night's sleep he'd gotten in ages. He had started awake at the sound of a door closing. Right. Grantaire didn't know he was there. Enjolras stood up and stretched. His first thought was to leave quietly, but he figured he owed Grantaire an explanation, or rather, an apology. He went into the kitchen and started making coffee.

Grantaire exited the shower to the smell of coffee. It must have been Combeferre who dropped him off, no one else can figure out the timer on his coffee maker. He wrapped a towel around his waist, slid into his slippers (who wants to ruin their hardwood floors with wet feet?), and walked out into the kitchen. Grantaire stopped, wide eyed. Enjolras was drinking coffee at his kitchen table. Why was he here? Grantaire realized he was in a towel and bolted for his bedroom.

Enjolras looked up, seeing a dripping wet Grantaire in a towel. Boxing and gymnastics did him well. He blinked and Grantaire had run off. Enjolras smiled to himself. Enjolras had decided that today he'd set the record straight. He wanted Grantaire to know that he didn't hate him and that he was wrong to treat him so terribly. He sipped his coffee, then got up and filled another mug for Grantaire.

Grantaire took his time drying off and pulling on clothes. Enjolras was in his kitchen. Why? Had he brought Grantaire home? Why was he still here? Grantaire ran the towel through his hair, contemplating laying down on his bed and going back to sleep. Instead he walked back out into the kitchen. Enjolras handed him a mug of coffee, almost like a peace offering.

 

"What the hell are you doing here?" he muttered, grabbing the cream and sugar. Grantaire took a long sip, slowly starting to feel more human. All he needed now was a greasy breakfast. One thing at a time.

 

"I walked you home last night." Enjolras said, simply. 

 

"It's noon. Last night was hours ago. Yet here you are." he said it almost like a challenge. 

"I brought you home and I wanted to make sure you were okay, so I hung around for awhile. I accidentally fell asleep in your spare room. That couch is very comfortable."

"You slept in my studio?" Grantaire raised an eyebrow. "Did you snoop around?" He hoped Enjolras hadn't, that would be awkward.

"No, it was dark and I couldn't find the light switch. When I got up I left the room to see if you were okay." 

"Why? You don't like me?"

Enjolras sighed, sitting down. How could he explain it without Grantaire getting upset? Grantaire sat down next to him, waiting for an answer. Enjolras drank more of his coffee, trying to decide what to say.

"When I tried to wake you up last night, I saw your sketch book. It had fallen open on the floor. After seeing my face a few times, I realized how awful I had been treating you."

"What do you mean?" Grantaire asked, softly. 

"All the pictures of me had a scowl or disappointed look. I realized that was how I always looked. And I realized how badly I've been treating you. I want you to know it was not my intent to make you feel bad. And I was wrong. I should not react so poorly to our differing opinions. And your personal habits are not my business." Enjolras looked down, waiting for Grantaire's response. 

"So let me get this straight. You saw my sketch book, drew your own conclusions, and now your conscious feels bad and you feel like you have to make it up to me somehow? Save it, Enjolras, I don't need your pity. You don't like me, you're allowed, you know. My feelings are not so fragile that you hating me will ruin my life. That's thinking awfully high of yourself." he spat the last part out.

Enjolras flinched. Not the reaction he'd been counting on. "Grantaire, that's not it at all. It's more, I realized what a dick I've been and I want to start over. It's not pity, it's me admitting I was wrong and working towards fixing it."

"Why lie to yourself, though?"

"Who said I was lying?" Enjolras asked, his voice rising. Grantaire was good at pushing his buttons.

"You're not exactly the type to admit you're wrong. You're more a side stepper."

Enjolras opened his mouth to retort, but then closed it. Grantaire wasn't necessarily wrong. But he wasn't right either. 

"Sometimes, yes, I do. But not now. Now I realize that I was wrong. And I owe it to you to apologize."

Grantaire didn't say anything at first. "Who put you up to this?"

Enjolras looked stunned. "What? You think I did... you think someone.... what?"

Grantaire laughed. "Why else would you be apologizing?"

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe it's because I realize that I was wrong? That maybe, just maybe I consider you a friend and realize that I haven't acted like it?" he was shouting now.

Grantaire shook his head. "You should go." he said.

Enjolras looked hurt, but he nodded. "If that's what you want." he said, grabbing his sweatshirt and heading for the door. "But please think about what I said." 

Enjolras looked back at Grantaire again before he left. He went home and flopped face down onto the couch.

"Rough morning? Did your date kick you out? Seems like an odd time, given that it's one in the afternoon." Courfeyrac said, laying sideways in the chair. 

"I didn't have a date. I walked Grantaire home last night and fell asleep looking after him."

Courfeyrac laughed. "You fell asleep _looking after him_ oh what fun you must be in the sack!"

Enjolras gave him the finger. "That's not what happened, and you know it! Anyway, this morning I tried to apologize for how I've acted with him but he got upset."

"Well, that's R for you. He doesn't think people are being genuine when they apologize, especially if he doesn't think he deserves the apology. He'll come around. Just show him you're serious."

So Enjolras did. At every meeting he made a point to keep his cool. He and Grantaire still argued and debated, but Enjolras made sure that his arguments did not become personal. He also tried to talk to Grantaire after meetings, but the man didn't hang around long enough for that. Enjolras was disappointed, but he was patient.

About three months later, Enjolras was packing up his materials after a meeting. He had hoped, again, to be able to talk to Grantaire, but, as usual, he left with Joly and Bossuet as soon as the meeting ended. Enjolras was organizing his papers when he saw a sketch tucked in between the pages. It was his own face staring back at him. This time he was smiling. Enjolras couldn't help but smile. He looked and saw an ornate R in the corner. They might not be close friends, but at least Enjolras' point had made it through.


End file.
